


The Love of a Cat

by Callingtheangels



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Unreliable Narrator, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, mostly because I don't know that much about the witcher universe, my books are still coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callingtheangels/pseuds/Callingtheangels
Summary: Jaskier loved easily, he always had. It also meant he hurt easily, but what was a little pain to a witcher?But this bard is different, his honey-golden eyes haunting Jaskier everywhere he went and his sweet, melodic voice echoing in his ears. What was it about this bard, this Geralt, that captivated him so?~~~Geralt loved slowly, he always had. It meant he couldn't get hurt by those that leave him. And they always do.But this witcher is different, his cornflower blue eyes peering at Geralt from dark audiences and vivid dreams, his smile flashing behind closed eyelids. What was it about this witcher, this Jaskier, that captivated him so?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Love at First Note

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by ginnyinabin's cute doodle of a bard!Geralt and witcher!Jaskier: https://ginnyinabin.tumblr.com/post/619354626760818689/buff-bard-and-his-stabby-cat-walk-into-a
> 
> My brain took one look at that and went, "oooohhhhh, Nice!"
> 
> This is my first fic I am ever writing for AO3 and the first one I have written in years. Which is why I still need to figure out tagging, haha! I imagine I will play with it for a while still, I've got some Ideas. Once I finish her up, I'll update the chapter count.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Jaskier loved Oxenfurt.

The sights were so vibrant, colors exploding across the streets and the rooftops, tapestries falling from windows and waving in the wind. The smell of cooked meats wafted from the braziers, intermingling with the perfume from the brothel across the way. The sounds were a harmonious cacophony, loud voices rising out from the market, lovers murmuring to each other as they strolled, scholars bickering over their next academic pursuit. Even the air felt softer, more loving.

The people were just as intriguing, moving quickly through the streets with baskets of produce on their head or books in their hands, each one as different from the other as the next. Jaskier loved humans, he loved their vivacity and wit, especially when those traits were focused on him. He enjoyed the companionship of humans far more than his witcher brothers did.

Jaskier rode slowly through the front gates, taking in the atmosphere of his favorite city. He couldn’t stop the small smile that spread across his face, and he urged Thunder forward through the crowds. They parted before him and his horse like waves, crashing back together behind him, unperturbed by his presence. He made his way towards the Coastside, his favorite inn on the other side of Oxenfurt. It would have a cheap room for him and a hot bath ready to be drawn. And preferably some lovely people he could convince to spend some time with him for the few days he was in Oxenfurt.

As Jaskier came closer to the city center he heard strains of lively music lifting over the rooftops. He smirked; musicians from the Academy often put on free concerts to entertain market goers and practice their trade. Jaskier had always had a preference for musicians during his stays in Oxenfurt. Their melodic voices pleased him when he took them apart in his bed. He made a mental note to head to the city square once he stabled Thunder.

The crowds thinned as Jaskier approached Coastside. He dismounted, patting Thunder on the neck before grabbing his packs from the saddle. He tossed a coin to the stable boy as he handed him the reins.

“Make sure he gets a good brushing, yeah?” The boy nodded excitedly, leading the horse into the stable and murmuring to him. Jaskier watched him go, smiling softly before he entered the inn.

The main room was dark, especially after the glare of the midday sun outside. Jaskier’s cat eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom, spotting the innkeeper at the fire behind the bar, with his back to the door. Jaskier softened his steps as he approached the bar, trying not to draw his attention. Then suddenly, he slammed his hand on the top of the counter with a loud bang.

“DUANE!” Jaskier shouted.

He shouldn’t fall to the floor laughing at the image of his old friend leaping into the air, whirling about and raising his hands into a brawler’s stance, still clutching the ladle from the stew pot. But he does.

“Boy! Jaskier, is that you?” Duane came around the bar, spotting the witcher rolling about gracelessly on the ground. “Aye, I’d know that ugly shrieking you call a laugh anywhere, you rat bastard,” A small piece of stew flew from the ladle as Duane shook it at Jaskier.

He slowly climbed to his feet, brushing off his armor and catching his breath. He flashed a winsome smile at Duane.

“Duane, my friend. You need to clean more often.”

“Fuck off.” Jaskier chuckled quietly at his response as Duane went back around the bar.

Duane reached below the bar and slapped a key on the counter, saying, “Same room as always, then. I say, 3 days? I suppose you’ll be wanting a bath tonight.”

“You always know the way to my heart, love,” Jaskier breathes, batting his eyelashes at his friend and grabbing the key from the counter, dropping a few coins in its place.

“The way to your heart is a paved highway, Jaskier, you are pleased by too many simple things.” With a dramatic bow, Jaskier moves himself and his packs to the stairs, climbing to his room that he stays in each time he comes to Oxenfurt.

It’s a small thing, perfect for a single witcher. The window faces the sea and allows the salty air to breeze through the room, which is all Jaskier cares about. Speaking of which, Jaskier walked to the tiny window to throw it wide open and air out some of the stale air. It was then that he heard the music again. He’d already set his packs down and Thunder was being taken care of, so he made sure his short swords were on his back and his dagger at his side, before leaving his room and locking the door.

He always carried his swords with him wherever he went, whenever he could. Even in Oxenfurt, you can’t assume you won’t find a monster. Or be chased out of town by the human kind.

Duane was wiping down the counter when Jaskier descended the steps, a few patrons trickling into the main room. Jaskier stepped lightly up to the counter, smiling smugly at Duane when he dropped the rag, like he wasn’t cleaning in response to Jaskier’s comment.

“Shut it, you.”

“Duane, you wound me. I was going to say nothing about anything, ever,” Jaskier may have oversold it with the hand over his heart and his simpering attitude.

“The day you stop talking is the day that I fear the end of times has come.” A delighted laugh bubbles out of Jaskier’s chest.

“The day I stop talking may just be the end of times,” Jaskier smiled fondly at Duane, and they clasped hands over the bar.

“It is good to see you, friend. I heard rumors of a witcher who met a grisly end near Blaviken and I worried.”

“Ah, nasty business that. Not a Cat, but a Griffin there. Got tangled in a mage’s work and ended up killing a few men in the town before he was taken down by another witcher. A Wolf, that one.” Duane nodded. He understood better than most what problems witchers dealt with. It wasn’t all backwoods hunts and swamp hags.

Witchers got attention almost everywhere they went, and oftentimes it wasn’t good attention. There are many powerful people who would love to understand the trials that witchers went through, to take that power for themselves. Stregobor was another mage in a long line of mages that tried. And failed, the Wolf saw to that.

A patron opened the door to the inn and the sound of music followed him through, reminding Jaskier of the enticing sounds he heard earlier.

“Duane, as exciting as catching up with you is, I need to go to market. I have a few supplies I need to stock up on and sights to see, you know how it is,” Jaskier backed away from the bar, heading towards the door.

Duane sighed. “You mean you need to find a pretty thing to take up your time while you’re here.” Jaskier just grinned as he exited the inn, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light. He turned towards the city center, planning to scope out the local musicians and see if anyone would be interested in a novel lay.

As he got closer to the city center though, the people packed in on all sides. While Jaskier was normally adverse to using his witcher reputation to get him any _different_ treatment, mostly because you could never be sure that the reactions of the humans around him would be _good_ reactions, he didn’t mind shifting his weight around to get through this close crowd. One look at the double short swords on his back, one steel and one silver, and people moved out of his way. He found himself near the city stage fairly quickly, all things considered.

Just in time for… something to happen on the stage. The music had stopped and there were noises, sounding like musicians moving around. Jaskier usually never felt limited by his height, being perfectly capable of taking down Cats and even witchers from other Schools when they held sparring matches. He was fast and nimble and a damn good witcher. Yet now, with his head just at or below the level of those around him, he couldn’t see a single thing on the stage. He huffed quietly and tuned into the crowd around him.

“I heard he was going to be here today.”

“Aye, showing off some new song or the other.”

“Do you think he’ll speak his native tongue? It’s so attractive.”

“I think I see him, shhh!”

Jaskier turned his attention away from the crowd as a few gentle strums of music started. Instruments added into the piece, creating a sweetly lilting musical accompaniment that settled itself into Jaskier’s chest. He smiled softly at the sounds from the stage, a lyrical piece that brought to mind young love.

But that smile slid off his face and his jaw dropped open once the vocalist began to sing.

_Oh my friend, she has fallen for the charms of a dangerous man_

_And her heart, his for keeping, told me I would not see her again_

_But the words on my lips are abound..._

The lyrics didn’t mean much to Jaskier, they were pretty enough as songs went. But that voice. It vibrated through his ears, danced down his spine and set his bones to humming. He barely felt himself pushing through the crowd but suddenly he was standing in front of the stage and could _see_.

Jaskier has been kicked in the chest before. He’s been thrown by a kikimore across a swamp into a tree. He’s choked on his own blood before. He knows what being breathless feels like. But somehow this is different, somehow the beauty of the man singing on the stage has taken his insides and twisted them inside him as easily as if he cast a spell.

But Jaskier’s medallion didn’t hum, so this could be no spell.

The vocalist was a beautiful man, his light hair so white that it is almost translucent, glittering in the afternoon sun. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed as he sang with a small smile on his lips. His pale hair and skin were complemented by the deep blue doublet he wore, accented with a blue hat and black feather on his head. He was a large man, muscles barely disguised by the flowing doublet he wore. He would easily tower over the other musicians, except he was sitting on a stool and strumming an instrument as he sang. His broad shoulders curved down, as though he was trying to appear smaller, more insignificant, even as his voice captivated everyone in the square.

His eyes slowly slid open, unfocused and lost in the music. They were a gorgeous golden hazel, almost light enough to be yellow and they were _stunning_. Jaskier felt like he was drowning in honey, which is an improvement over the one time he did drown in muddy swamp water.

_I would not forget you – Ta fhios agam ca bhfuil tu anois (I know where you are now)_

_Nor have I now – Ta fhois agam ce thu fhein anois (I can rest with you now)_

_I would not forget you - Ta fhios agam ca bhfuil tu anois (I know where you are now)_

Those honey eyes slid over the crowd, expressionlessly, until they came to rest on Jaskier. They widened. Jaskier probably looked a mess, face red from the unexpected attack on his ability to breathe, possibly drooling, it is hard to tell.

However, when their eyes met, it is like Jaskier suddenly had permission to breathe again. The air rushed back into lungs that felt uncomfortably squeezed with how he had been holding his breath. He snapped his jaw shut and sneakily rubbed a hand over his face, checking for drool. Golden eyes sharpened on him, a strong brow lifting just slightly. Jaskier grinned at the musician and winked.

The vocalist looked away from Jaskier as he finished his song, the final words echoing across the square as the music faded. _I would not forget you, nor have I now._

As the square erupted into cheers, people wiping tears from their eyes, the musician smiled out shyly and slightly bowed from his position on the stool. He stood and put his instrument away, slinging the case over his back and stepping down from the stage. As Jaskier watched his shoulders move through the crowd, his head easily seen above the people around him, he felt a low hum settle in his chest.

He wanted _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, Geralt's song is "I would not forget" by Brian Kennedy.
> 
> Idk why my brain heard Brian Kennedy sing and went, yes this is the Voice of a Buff Bard. But it did.


	2. A Shock of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt understood that he was different, that he attracted attention because of his appearance.
> 
> He didn't understand why the short man with the blue eyes and double swords was following him through the marketplace.
> 
> Usually people just left him alone, but this one... this one would not stop talking!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is folks, the second chapter! I imagine that now it is the weekend, I can crank out a lot more of the ideas swimming through my head and plan out this fic a little more proactively. Then I can set a specific day that I'll upload the next chapter, and give myself some deadlines to work within.
> 
> I keep finding myself reading back through the fic and going "oh, dang this is good, where is the next chapter??" and then I realize; it's in my head. I have to write the next chapter. O.O

Geralt hunched his shoulders, trying to melt into the crowd the way the other Academy musicians always could. It never worked. His height, appearance, and novelty as a foreigner drew eyes no matter what he did. He pushed through the crowd in the square, people smiling at him. Most likely laughing at his odd appearance. A tall, muscled, white-haired bard.

He could breathe a little easier as he left the main roads, taking side alleys to the market. He needed new strings before the competition tomorrow night and he needed to practice with them to wear them in. It would do no good to have a malfunctioning instrument to play music with.

Geralt pushed into a new crowd, the one that flowed through the market. He stood a little taller, nose twitching at the smell of roast lamb further down the road. He allowed a small smile to grow on his face, excitement building to once again be ensnared in the sights and sounds of a marketplace. Although he would prefer less crowds, Geralt had always loved markets. He liked looking through all the different wares that people brought to sell, the sheer magnitude of things intriguing his mind. He learned all he knows of herbalism at a market, sitting next to old Nora as she rattled on about the poisonous properties of foxglove, the health benefits to take into account when brewing tea, and whether buttercups or dandelions were the superior yellow pigment for dyes.

Geralt stepped to the nearest stand, a fabric vendor. He touched a midnight blue silk brocade, lined with silver patterns. He ran a string-callused fingertip over the pattern as he considered his purse. It wouldn’t hurt to have a new wardrobe for the competition, but he certainly didn’t have the money now.

“There you are, gorgeous,” a smooth voice purred from Geralt’s left. He startled, head whipping to the side to see the man from earlier, in the square. He was leaning into Geralt’s space, his eyes sparkling with an emotion suspiciously like mirth.

When Geralt had seen the man in the crowd from the stage, his first thought had been ‘brown.’ The man wore a lot of it, brown armor covering a brown shirt, brown leggings tucked into brown boots, brown straps crossing his chest and holding two swords to his back, a brown scabbard holding a dagger at his side. Even his hair was brown. His second thought was ‘oh no’ because the man had been having some sort of attack, his face red as he struggled to breathe. When Geralt had looked at him, he had sucked in a deep breath and ran a shaking hand over his face. Geralt had raised an eyebrow in silent question and the man had grinned and winked at him. He was fine, then.

But as Geralt looked at him now, he realized that in all that brown there was a stunning shock of cornflower blue, peering up at him from the man’s face. A smile danced on his face, revealing white teeth, a pink tongue slipping out to wet his lips. The smile crinkled his skin, revealing thin white scars across his jaw. Geralt tilted his head slightly, his eyes drawn to that flash of pink, before more white was showing as the man smiled triumphantly. He certainly noticed where Geralt’s attention had been drawn.

Then his words registered and Geralt turned back to the fabric in front of him. Gorgeous, right, he scoffed. This man was having a laugh at Geralt’s expense.

“I’ve always been a fan of a little cat and mouse, and you are quite surprisingly good at playing mouse. How did you slip away so quickly? No matter, I’ve found you now. You have the most stunning appearance, you know? Your hair is like spun light, sunshine captured into a physical form. Your eyes, my dear, they remind me of the finest ale, honeyed treats, the feeling one has when you see a child smile, the way…” the man rattled on, clearly willing to play up the joke until he got an answer. Geralt wanted him to stop.

“You’re fine then,” Geralt spoke, his voice rumbling out of his chest. The man abruptly stopped talking with a choked gasp and Geralt glanced at him to see his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to wheeze in some air. Geralt turned to him with concern, finally setting down the brocade and stepping closer, his hands coming up to grasp the man’s arms. His concern grew as he looked down into a face that was progressively becoming redder. What was wrong with this man?

“Are you alright?” he asked and the man sucked in a rattling breath, color slowly draining out of his face. He gulped and nodded, looking caught off guard. Geralt nodded back and stepped away, hands dropping back to his sides.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man said after a quick cough, smoothly sliding back into his flirtatious attitude.

“Geralt,” he grunted as he finally turned away from the fabric vendor to walk through the rest of the market, glancing at stalls to each side. Jaskier followed quickly behind.

“ _Geralt,_ ” Jaskier whispered, rolling his name around in his mouth like he was tasting it. He hummed, apparently finding something pleasing about the taste. “Geralt of _where?_ You simply must tell me where you are from, your appearance says you aren’t from the Continent and the song had words in a language I’ve never heard before, which is saying something because I know a great many languages, I am incredibly clever, as I have studi--”

“Across the sea,” Geralt interrupted Jaskier before he could continue on. The man barely needed to take a breath, words flowing from his mouth quickly. How could he talk so much and say nothing at all? Geralt almost couldn’t follow it. Certainly not in the market, where conversations and shouting filled the air. 

Jaskier was walking beside Geralt as he made his way through the market, heading towards the vendor who always sold him the best strings for a cheaper price. Always said something about making sure Geralt could keep filling the air with ‘wonderful music’ or something. Geralt figured he felt pity for him, since he stood out so much in Oxenfurt.

“Across the sea,” Jaskier whispered to himself, nodding like this information was vitally important. Geralt smirked slightly and turned to look at Jaskier, stopping them both in their tracks.

“You going to repeat everything I say?” he questioned, the smirk growing on his face as Jaskier gaped at him. He recovered quickly though, an answering smirk gracing his lips.

“But you say so much, my dear. However will I understand you if I don’t repeat the important bits?” Geralt hummed and turned away, stepping up to a vendor selling gemstones, hoping Jaskier might leave him alone to his shopping. No such luck. Jaskier followed and continued prattling on next to him, more similes and metaphors comparing Geralt’s appearance to mountains and clear springs, so he tuned it out. A blue gemstone partially buried under other stones caught his eye and he dug it out. It was a lighter shade of blue than he normally went for, but it glittered in the sun in such a pleasing way. He raised it up to the vendor, an eyebrow raised in question.

“One crown,” the man said, barely looking at Geralt before turning his glare back to Jaskier. For some reason, he didn’t seem to like the man. Probably because Jaskier was talking so much. But one crown for the gem was a steep price, one Geralt couldn’t afford so he shook his head and set the stone back down gently before turning back to the market. He didn’t see Jaskier flip the vendor a crown and pick up the gem, pocketing it.

“So where are you off to now, hmm? You must be looking for something?” Jaskier was still following Geralt, keeping up with Geralt’s longer strides. It seemed like people were parting around them, giving them space to move. They were probably intimidated by Geralt’s height, although many of them gave wary glances to the man animatedly talking next to Geralt.

“I’m going to Vesemir’s stand. He gives me a good price on new strings, which I need for the competition tomorrow,” it was certainly the most Geralt had spoken since Jaskier introduced himself. 

“A competition? And you weren’t going to tell me! I must attend, I must support your endeavors, dear heart. You will surely win the competition, I believe it, for you are more radiant…” Geralt tuned him out again, but a smile was turning up the corners of his lips. This man talked so much and said so little, but his prattling made a warm feeling rise in Geralt’s chest. He didn’t want to examine it too closely.

They found themselves at Vesemir’s stand in no time, the extra space that the crowd gave them making the walk take less time than usual. When the old man caught sight of Geralt over the crowd, he smiled and called him over.

“Geralt! I have your strings and a new instrument you should take a look at!” Excitement flooded through Geralt; he loved new instruments. He loved anything musical, it was why he crossed the sea to study at the Academy. He loved the way that music filled the air, the way that it communicated in a way he could never find with just his words. Which was why he loved any new ways to make music, and a new instrument was certainly that.

He jumped forward quickly, pushing through the remaining crowd to reach Vesemir’s stand. Jaskier’s mouth halted its noise as he quickly followed in Geralt’s wake. 

“Vesemir,” Geralt grunted, containing his glee so Vesemir wouldn’t see. 

“Geralt, how are you? I heard your singing coming over from the square, a new old song?” Vesemir smiled kindly at Geralt, he always did. Of all the people in Oxenfurt that Geralt had met, Vesemir was certainly his favorite. Even if he did sell him cheap strings out of pity. Pity and kindness.

“A new old song, yes. I heard it first in Carrickfergus, from a vocal teacher. I decided it was time to bring it over here from across the sea.” Vesemir could always coax more words out of Geralt than any others. Something about his smiling, scarred face made Geralt want to tell him anything he asked for.

“You sang it beautifully. Now, here’s those strings that you had asked for and here’s a new drum-like instrument from the south, you’ll like this…” Vesemir started to explain the ways that the new instrument was played, but Geralt’s attention was drawn away by the absolutely silent man next to him. 

He almost thought Jaskier had left, leaving Geralt to talk with the old man alone. But no, he was standing next to Geralt’s side, a hard gaze fixed on Vesemir’s face and his lips pressed into a thin line. It unnerved Geralt and made him feel protective for his old friend. He wanted Jaskier away from him.

“Thank you Vesemir, but just the strings today,” Geralt gently interrupted Vesemir, holding out the few silver coins for the strings. Vesemir’s eyes flicked to the man next to Geralt, a strange emotion shining in his eyes before he took the coins and handed the strings over.

“Right, well, you take care of yourself then Geralt. You never know what kind of strays might be lurking about,” Vesemir said, finally making eye contact with Jaskier and crossing his arms over his chest. An uneasy silence settled between the three men.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, easier than asking a question about that odd phrasing. He waved to Vesemir as he turned back to the crowd. He needed to get back to his rooms at the Academy and restring his instrument, practice a bit to loosen the wire.

Geralt shouldn’t have been surprised that after a moment, Jaskier appeared at his side. Before the other man could speak, Geralt opened his mouth.

“Vesemir is a good man.”

Jaskier closed his mouth, having just opened it to assumedly launch into another wave of words. He nodded quickly, before muttering to himself what Geralt was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear.

“ _Good_ , yes. But a man? Hmm…”

Geralt shook his head. What a strange man, this Jaskier.

It didn’t take long for Jaskier to perk up, his steps lightly dancing along the cobblestones as they made their way towards the Academy. He rattled on about a ‘lovely creek, darling, you would look ravishing on the bank’ that he had found in one of his travels through Kaedwen. The crowds thinned as they left the market area, before too long it was just Jaskier and Geralt walking up to the Academy.

Other students see Geralt coming in the distance, and they quickly make their way over. While he hasn’t had too many run-ins with students, Geralt never assumed that they wanted to make friends. He was a foreigner and he certainly looked it and acted it. He didn’t need reminders that he didn’t belong. That he wasn’t welcome.

“Oh Geralt!” One of the female students cried as the group got closer. There were seven of them, three women and four males. While only two carried instruments designating them students in the bards college, three of the others wore robes marking them as students in history and the other two wore robes of the herbology school. “Geralt, you poor thing! You must have gotten lost on your way back from the square,” the woman spoke again, though something about her tone made Geralt think she wasn’t concerned about him as a ‘poor thing.’ He had never spoken to her before. That, and as she spoke, she was glaring at the man next to him.

“Well, Geralt, this is where I must leave you,” Jaskier said as he touched a hand to Geralt’s elbow, giving him a small smile. The verbose and talkative Jaskier seemed to have retreated again, though Geralt didn’t know why. Jaskier backed away, giving a small bow to those gathered before turning and walking back the way they had come.

“Geralt, you simply must be careful. You never know what kind of _monsters_ are lurking,” the woman spoke loudly, her voice carrying. She grasped Geralt’s elbow and turned him back towards the Academy.

“Really, Geralt, I know you are not from here. But you must have paid attention when your history professors spoke of _witchers_ , and that _thing_ is one of them,” one of the history students sneered the word. Geralt had paid attention, he always listened in his studies. He loved knowledge. But a witcher? He hadn’t even realized. He twisted his head to look after the man, Jaskier, a _witcher_.

He doesn’t know why his heart thuds heavy in his chest, his stomach twisting, when he sees slumped shoulders and a lowered head. He doesn’t know why that image stays with him the rest of the night. He doesn’t examine why his heart pounds when he slides a hand into his pocket once safely back in his room and finds a blue gemstone, cornflower blue and glittering in the candlelight. He doesn’t examine why he sets the stone on his bed stand with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of playing around with the idea of switching between Jaskier's and Geralt's POV for each chapter. I like the angst that I get when there is miscommunication in fics (though I don't like miscommunication in life, huh). This way, the readers get to experience some angst and frustation with "Geralt/Jaskier! Why don't you see that he loves you!?"
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
